


cursory confessions

by Rupzydaisy



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV), A Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket
Genre: F/M, Post-Baudelaire Fire, Pre-Baudelaire Fire, hidden code, long-declared and long-lost love, pre-ASOUE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-09
Updated: 2019-02-09
Packaged: 2019-10-25 05:25:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17718905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rupzydaisy/pseuds/Rupzydaisy
Summary: Intrepid reader, the following snippets have been carefully pieced together by a vigilant fact-finding dilettante in the attempt to shed light on the tumultuous life of one Lemony Snicket.These curtailed scraps have been collated from what is believed to be one of Snicket’s abandoned hideouts.Some may argue these words are the musings of a man so weighed down by his own thoughts that he must abandon them, while others are more convinced that they act as breadcrumbs of a much larger tale.





	cursory confessions

Intrepid reader, the following snippets have been carefully pieced together by a vigilant fact-finding dilettante in the attempt to shed light on the tumultuous life of one Lemony Snicket. These curtailed scraps have been collated from what is believed to be one of Snicket’s abandoned hideouts. Some may argue these words are the musings of a man so weighed down by his own thoughts that he must abandon them, while others are more convinced that they act as breadcrumbs of a much larger tale. 

 

 

 

1.

The world may or may not be sweeter for the existence of sugar bowls, my dearest, but I think often of your words while I let my tea steep.

It is true that your coffee or tea should as bitter as wormwood and as sharp as a double edged sword, yet it is the darkness of the liquid and the reflection it offers once the hot steam clears that makes all the difference.

To look down into the rippling circle and face oneself has become harder since we have parted ways, I from my furtive desire to live an ordinary life and you from life itself.  

If fishes were wishes I would don my red mackintosh and galoshes and take to a dinghy to snare one. I would even go so far as to make a net with my very own hands to cast out and haul in those precious sparkling potentials.

Yet it is a far better to liken wishes to fishes, in that they are both fleeting, notoriously hard to lure in without live bait, and will most likely slip out from your fingers, just as you once did.

 _[Collector’s note:_ _The _ _first of three, found tied together behind a loose,_ _worn_ _tile above the bathroom sink.]_

 

 

 

2.

I must confess that the never ending flit from safe house to safe house is a tiresome task, my darling. The days grow short and I feel the burning prickle of eyes on my back while walking in crowded streets. There is a stifling terror in my heart too, for there is no comfort to be taken in a well cultivated bookshelf or the company of loyal friends while unwelcome dangers appear at former reliable drop points and old door stoops are reduced to charred rubble.

I find myself sleeping with the taps loosened so the constant _plink plink_ of water on cracked porcelain fills up the silence, or having the windows wide flung open in long abandoned bothies to pretend, just for a little while, that the heavy patter of rain on the flat steel roof is enough to extinguish every nefariously started fire.

_[Collector’s note: Note found taped to the underside of the dining table._

_While it is easy to_ _say _ _that Snicket was bone-_ _tired _ _from his life on the lam, subsequent notes have been found half-finished with a curious repetition of letters including ‘Poleeee_ _Stars _ _’, ‘borderrrr’ and ‘waltzzzzzzz’ clearly depicting the man falling asleep at his typewriter.]_

 

 

 

3.

I have climbed mountains and raised molehills for the sake of our noble cause. I hoodwinked the Baron of Memphis into lending a book to me that shall never be returned. Your unquenchable desire of righting wrongs gave me hope when I was trapped in a locked safe and tossed off the end of the pier at Sullen Strand.

It continues to inspire me. After all, you were the one who sailed to the depths of the ocean and trod the boards with a dastardly villain and his largely untalented chorus.

Together we have caught many flies, fruit bats, and messenger pigeons with sugared words and carefully decipherable clues. With every pass around the table and whisper into the night, the sugar bowl became more of an asset.

Our hope is bolstered by the notion that one day we would no longer have to sip tea and make polite conversation with those who desire the fall of Alexandria again and shall stop at nothing to hear the crackle of flames, that there will be no fungus induced final gasps and the seed of knowledge would flourish forever more.

I regret that our best laid plans have gone the same way as those dreamt up by mice and men. Nevertheless, my love, I'll press on and made do with what little I have left.

_[Collector’s note: Written on a scrap of notepaper, found hidden inside an empty watch box._

_You _ _may be intrigued to know that this was found attached to a post-it note in barely legible writing- ‘The_ _die has been cast, or perhaps our chance to load it _ _shall _ _come around again.’]_

 

 

 

4.

Once, a very long time ago, my siblings and I were taken from our beds in the dead of night with nary a scream or whisper all those years ago. (The word 'nary’ here refers to the fact that we were a bright bunch of children and expected it.) Our training was long and arduous, the skills learnt more valuable than all the gold in the Snicket family vaults, and we were proud to join the ranks of noble volunteers seeking to aid justice and quash corruption.

Once, not so long ago, there were a hundred tiny pieces of truth scattered to the winds by our remarkable forebears, and we children of the schism pieced together what we could, and have fractured ourselves further apart all for the sake of it.

One may argue that the world is quiet here for a vast number of reasons. There is the stillness in the air after a raging storm breaks, tranquillity in the open countryside under a light spring breeze, or a muteness owed to a horror one can never find the words to describe. Quite recently my world has stilled, and I have discovered that copious amounts of ash have a certain quality that lends itself well to muffling sound. Amongst the grey and black flames, I have lost sanctuary, my second best fountain pen, and the love of my life.

_[Collector’s note: The second of three letter scraps, found tied together above the bathroom sink._

_For further context, myself and a few other mystery aficionados had returned the next day and hidden in the_ _dirty _ _hedges behind Snicket’s abandoned safe house very_ _early _ _in the morning in the hope of spotting his return. We spent hours in the cold debating exactly what the '_ _die' _ _in the previous note related to,_ _and _ _sadly have not come to a consensus.]_

 

 

 

5.

My moral convictions continue to fly straight and true just as this precocious crow charged with what I fear may be a flawed and futile mission of delivering this message.

I have been deathly scared of putting my truths on paper, which others can read, but I cannot lie to you and so I have tried my hardest to summon what little courage I had left once I read and reread your thirteen questions, feeling the distance between where we once were and where we are now stretch out further.  

I have never told you this, but IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIII II IIIIIIII IIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIIIII IIIIIIIIIIIII IIII, IIIIIII IIIIII II IIIII IIIIIIIIIII.

IIIIIIII, IIIII IIIIIIIIIII. III III IIII IIII.

All I can do now is open the window with desperate hope and send this steely-eyed corvid into the sunrise, willing it not to return with the setting sun to nip at my fingers with this letter still tied to its leg.

 _[Collector’s note: The last of three letter scraps, found tied together above_ _the_ _bathroom sink, and was partly water damaged, to our dismay._

 _For further reference, the house was_ _clean _ _and well maintained. It seemed like it had been well visited over the years, and the kitchen cupboards contained soup tins and cracker boxes with expiry dates ranging across several years, although I must note that there was an eerie and inexplicable_ _cold _ _draft in the master bedroom. It was perplexing to say the least, especially since the heating had been left on.]_

 

 

 

6.

I miss you like autumn misses spring, forever kept apart and unconvinced of the other’s return after the final few golden leaves are shed.

I miss you like the distant nuts and bolts of everyday life miss their well worn routine now that you are gone and have taken my most happiest moments with you.

I miss you like the harpoon misses the whale, like the waves miss the twinkling damp sand on Briny Beach as they draw back forever in the pull of the cold, distant moonlight.

I miss you like the stars miss the first warble of the universe from all those years ago - although I will never be able to forget the first time I saw your smile.

I miss you like a cold weather front misses the people it's sent scurrying home, shivering with chills and chesty coughs that rack their lungs, and like the thin ice on a lake misses adventurous youths long enveloped in its cold embrace, or like the melting snowflake misses the powerful fury of the blizzard.

I miss you like a car tyre misses desperately thrown thumbtacks, like the open road misses the shriek of a deranged woman dressed in the most ludicrous dress, and how a certain Squalor misses the undoubtedly fine appearance of her once-complete china set.

I miss you like the floorboards of the stage miss your delicately sharp hatpins dropping one by one, how the standing ovation misses the swish of velvet curtains falling, and this reviewer sorely misses a certain dark haired, gossamer winged, leading lady.  

I miss you like a hole in the head, and a hole in the heart, and a hole in the whole world that is never to be filled. 

 _[Collector’s note: Written on the back of a well-creased, drafted review of the popular tragedy “Le_ _Stelle_ _in Fuga”_ _found inside the top-left desk drawer in the study._

_Many other critics_ _say_ _that_ _you_ _can do nothing except be awestruck with the final, quavering note.]_

 

 

 

7.

As I write this, I am careful that no limb or shoe is poking out of this haystack I'm using to conceal myself as I make the journey from the countryside to the city. It's a very bumpy ride. All in all, I can report back that our suspicions are confirmed, although you'll have to wait until we meet in person to determine exactly which suspicions I am referring to. Suffice to say, I was given good intel by our fairweather friend at the hotel, and successfully picked up a valuable clue at a certain rogue-filled ranch.

It reminded me of our well used verbal fridge dialogues, and how the sliced mango, black beans, and chopped celery mixed together with a tangy dressing is both an ingenious and delicious method of coding. However, in this case, it was a particular bread recipe, wherein a freshly baked soda bread is to be displayed on a kitchen windowsill to cool between the hours of nine and eleven and following a dashing rescue, is to be enjoyed between the hours of one and two with hot minestrone soup and freshly churned butter.

 _[Collector’s note: Found on the reverse of a stained map depicting the Vineyard of Fragrant Grapes, suspiciously looking rather square-like (perhaps the aforementioned_ _‘ die’ _ _, we shall never know), located in a_ _shall_ _ow compartment under the floorboards by the coat stand.]_

 

 

 

8.

It may disappoint you to learn that I have returned to a place I never thought I would return to. Especially not after risking life and limb after setting off an unexpected trap intended to bury any fire-starting trespassers under an avalanche of snow. It is foolish, I know, to make the journey back here, but my resolve has been wavering in these dark hours and is rendered useless by the need to get out of my sodden socks and shirt.

It is strange to be writing to the memory of you, for in every room I see your ghost.

Sitting here by the window, it all looks still and peaceful in the empty belly of what was the hub of our organisation, full of life and heartwarming literary exchanges. Up here in the mountains the rest of the world looks far away and for a moment, a brief moment, I can allow myself not to think of fire-extinguishers and fire-starters, for the world is truly quiet here.

Now is the time for big questions, perhaps my most biggest ones yet. I have oiled my typewriter, stretched my fingers, and drank the most bitter tea brewed out of remaining tea leaves left behind in our headquarters.

One cannot fool themselves into thinking they have done all they can. I for one, can never, seeing as a trite action like throwing a certain sugar bowl out of the window in full view of several interested folk, has led to a series of unintended and inexplicably abysmal events.  

Some volunteers have abandoned us, feeling that their hearts or moral compasses are no longer aligned with the organisation. But I take heart in the fact that following the upheaval, where my path has crossed with other volunteers who have sharpened their vorpal swords. In the quieter moments, we have consoled ourselves that our friends and the ever shifting sands of time may aid us in our efforts to dampen future fire.

I shall continue taking advantage of my dire situation to make enquiries and tease out information that can be put to good use, in order to do what I can to help those you held in your arms and called ‘dearest’ as I once did to you.  

 _[Collector’s note: Written on a damp napkin, and found on the single_ _clean_ _bookshelf in the house between tucked between a copy of The Drapes of Wrath and In Determined Battle. _

_A small group of us strongly believe that this set of notes were addressed to the late B. Baudelaire,_ _and_ _that the ‘ d_ _ie  '_ _previously mentioned related to events leading up to the schism in their shadowy organisation.]_

**Author's Note:**

> A/N:  
> #1 I've only ever read asoue a really long time ago, and am part way through the Netflix series, so this was never going to be canon, but boy did I have fun writing this. 
> 
> #2 The coded words lead to a full piece that's easily Google-able which I think suits poor Lemony Snicket well, and if once you’ve figured it out you want to share your fave then do!


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